


Teenage Dream

by Meduseld



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Hal had it rough after his dad died, Hal's A+ childhood (that's sarcasm), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Joe West's excellent parenting (that's not sarcasm, M/M, Pre-Relationship, but I wrote it with that in mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: "Hey, sorry, but I kinda ran away from home so let me stay over tonight?”





	Teenage Dream

Barry’s tucking away his trig homework when there’s a rhythmic tapping at his window.

It takes him a second to remember Joe pruned the elm tree last weekend and it wouldn’t be beating _We Will Rock You_ against the pane, either. In the darkness, precariously balanced against the ledge Hal’s face floats like a ghost.

Barry tumbles out of his chair.

He can hear Hal’s laugh through the glass and he pops back up to open it.

He doesn’t slip, the _ass_ , but lands gracefully, like he planned it. Maybe he did. 

“Hal. Uh. Not that I’m not happy to see you but-” “But why am I here at nine on a Sunday when all good boys should be in bed?” 

“Kinda, yeah. It’s a little early for bed.” Barry says, blushing, painfully aware of the way his Spiderman pajama pants hover about an inch above his ankles.

But Hal hasn’t actually looked at him. Or pulled down the dark hood of the too big sweatshirt he’s wearing. It’s a hand-me-down or Goodwill, like most of what Hal owns.

He’s endlessly pacing Barry’s bedroom like he’s looking for hidden dangers in the corners, and it hits him that he hasn’t been in here all that often. He always grins too big at Joe and turns extra polite and it’s just more comfortable to spend time at the park or school or Clark’s.

Everyone loves the Kent home.

He’s only been to Hal’s once. He’d stood in a dirty, narrow hallway that smelled of decades of cigarettes while Hal got something from inside an apartment Barry never actually saw. 

“Hal…” he tries and finally, finally, he stops pacing and drops onto the bed like puppet with cut strings.

He breathes out once, fast and hard the way he does when he’s pitching and rolls his head.

His right cheek is a dark purple.

Barry sees his fingers reaching out and pulls them back.

Hal’s throat works and he doesn’t know what to do, where to put his hands. “So what I wanna say here is: hey, sorry, but I _kinda_ ran away from home so let me stay over tonight?”

He finishes with a big fake grin and Barry knows exactly what to do.

Or his body does, because there’s not thought to go with it. His arms go around Hal’s middle and he makes a little noise that almost makes him let go but then Hal’s arms pull him in and he hides his face against Barry’s shoulder.

He doesn’t cry, but his body shakes anyway.

They lose track of time, just lying there warm and safe until Iris barrels down the hall because that one show follows religiously is on and Hal groans and rolls away, untangling their legs.

Barry hadn’t noticed.

“Was it…was it your mom?” because he can’t not ask.

Hal huffs and Barry can’t read the twist of his lips.

“Her boyfriend?”

Barry has no idea if she even has one, but the roll of Hal’s eyes says he’s close.

“Mr. Flavor of the Week will be gone tomorrow, okay? Tonight is all I ask. I am prepared to do your trig homework for the rest of the year”

Barry shakes his head.

It’s a little tempting, because Hal is very good at math, but “You don’t have to pay me. I’m your friend”

Hal’s dark brown eyes go suspiciously glittery and he rolls off the bed, shaking his shoulders like a wet dog.

“Anyways. Bathroom? To the right, yeah? Be right back”

Barry lets him go, and rushes down the opposite direction as soon as he hears the door click.

Clothes for tomorrow, shoes that aren’t falling apart, bedding and snacks, and somehow not falling and breaking his neck carrying it all back.

He startles when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

It’s Joe, a finger firmly over his lips.

Then it points to Barry’s half open door.

Hal’s back is turned, hunched in a way that makes Barry’s heart lurch. His head is in his hands.

“He…” he has no idea how to end that sentence. “

Trust me?” he whispers.

Joe nods, slow. “Tomorrow, we’re talking. And ask that boy what he wants for breakfast”.

 

The answer, it turns out, is French toast.


End file.
